Blue hands.Blue limbs line this river bed, Sunlight shimmers on the surface Where small children paddle.Blue hands.
Only he sees them, Their flowering, flowing movements, Welcoming him to their home.
He finally holds a hand.
They’ve held back this affection too long, And they hold back no longer.
Their hands beat into his lungs, Their legs grasp round his body, Crushing his body.
His floating corpse is fished out, And children can finally paddle again.
Leaving, probably only for a while.
Neutral
--
A bird house is not the same as a bird home;
One is much more comfortable for birds
--Demetri Martin
--
And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Ignore my journal comment lol.
--
You will see my burning inferno, and there is no way in your wildest dreams that you can say no!
--
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had,
And add a little extra, just for you.
From "This Be The Verse", by Philip Larkin
thanks a lot for your fave.
br,
ana
--
|| i'm not a chance, i'm a person || from SFU ...
--
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had,
And add a little extra, just for you.
From "This Be The Verse", by Philip Larkin
--
i'm not a chance, i'm a person... sfu
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